<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>trembling fingers//truthful words by TerribleQuestionMark</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28234626">trembling fingers//truthful words</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerribleQuestionMark/pseuds/TerribleQuestionMark'>TerribleQuestionMark</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Just a little angst, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, can be read as many things really, dream writes letters, george writes a letter, there will also be responces, there will be more letters, they're short so quick reads</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:48:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,305</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28234626</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerribleQuestionMark/pseuds/TerribleQuestionMark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Writing is hard. It's hard to explain emotions in words. It's hard to describe what people do. It's harder when it it's writing a letter to people you care about. </p><p>Dream writes letters to people he loves and they write letters back.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream &amp; GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. So, George</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello! First of all thank you so much to @vestyr for helping me out with this! I appreciate you!</p><p>Don't send this to the ccs, if they find it on their own then that's a different story! So heyyyyyyy hope this makes you soft. I tried to make it cute :D<br/>______________</p><p>also low-key after I finished writing this chapter, I listened to music and noticed that Naive by ATO goes well with this lol.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>George :)</p><p>Hey. I know I could have texted you or talked to you or have written a short note on the gift you’re holding right now but I didn’t want to. I know I’m supposed to be a writer, that words are supposed to come easily to me but because I’m a writer, I know that there aren’t enough words to describe how much I care about you. </p><p>Sometimes it doesn’t feel real, George. When I wake up and you’re there, breathing. Your hair is slightly disheveled, mouth slightly open, and limbs wrapped tightly against yourself— I can’t help but hold my breath in fear of waking you up. You’re ethereal. </p><p>Sometimes I’m scared. Scared that someone else will grab your attention. That someday you wake up and prefer to hang out with any one of your other friends. That what we have is replaceable. That one day you won’t be next to me, George. That I can’t find you when I need you. That I’m not the person you need. </p><p>Sometimes I wonder. I wonder what you’re thinking in that pretty head of yours. If your thoughts are full of me as mine is of you. If we’re going too fast or not fast enough. If you want to label what it is that’s going on between us. If your lips tremble at the mere mention of my name, George. If I invade your dreams. I wonder if what we’re doing is love. If that matters at all because I’m loving what we do. </p><p>Sometimes I’m jealous, George. A burning rage cultivates inside me and I can’t control it. No matter how much I try to satiate it, it doesn’t stop. I’m a glutton to your affection. So hold me. Please, lie next to me. Lay with me, George.</p><p>And it will all be okay.</p><p>And I don’t want to make you feel bad. I can’t handle the thought that you might ever hate me. So I can’t have you thinking that I want to monopolize you. No, I can deal with this myself. I need to be able to, to keep you safe. So if you have to, lie.</p><p>Lie to me, George.</p><p>Tell me a lie so I can believe it because I want to believe everything you say. </p><p>Sometimes I’m not okay. I’m not okay with the fact that I can’t be next to you all day. That I can’t fight the battles that leave deep scars in places the assisted eye can’t see. I’m not okay with the amount of pain you have to endure because you exist here with me. George.</p><p>But if you are okay. Okay to be with me. If it means that I can be here with you, during those nights when the heat of my hands pales in comparison to that of your tears, then it’s all worth it. It’s worth staying with you. It’s worth suffering my own selfishness. It’s worth facing the words that strangers throw at us. It’s all worth it, George.</p><p>Because sometimes that pain is okay. I’m okay not being okay. It’s part of being human. I can feel it. I feel so human next to you, an angel on earth. Yet that cliche doesn’t do you justice, no description could ever do you justice. George,  I hate it because I want you to know how important you are but I want to be true to you, my religion. </p><p>I can only do my best, my dearest George. No nickname captures your beauty. Not even the sun, who gives us life, compares to the brilliance of your smile. Not the closest or farthest star is as enchanting at night as you are. Moonlight for skin, feathers for hair, and cherry lips are the closest things on Earth that carry a fraction of your worth. </p><p>George. Your name becomes my favorite prayer. I don’t think I could ever stop saying it. Honestly, I don’t think I could ever get bored of you. You’re hilarious.</p><p>You’re wonderful. Amazing. Your flustered expression is endearing. I can’t get enough.  No one can get enough, George. I don’t think I ever met a person that disliked you. I can handle competition, it’s in my blood and my blood is yours. I fight for you, George.</p><p>I’ll fight the world for you. I’ll destroy it, burn it, flood it with my tears— with the blood of those that wronged you. I’ll take anything you’ll give me.  And I’ll accept it, I’ll accept it all for you, George. </p><p>I know. I understand. If you decide to leave me, if I’m too much for you, I’ll accept that too, George. I’ll pray to anyone, anything— I’ll pray to God for the first time, I’ll thank the universe for letting me experience you. I know it’s inevitable. I’m too much of a mess, even more if I can’t be here for you but I’ll breathe your words, lies, promises, prayers, pain, anger, let me be your surrogate. Use me, George. Care for me as much as I do you.</p><p>This letter was supposed to be short and sweet, lovely. Not desperate. Not a confession of some of the darkest beings inside me. It was supposed to describe how much I appreciate you. How I can’t live without you. How important of a person you are to me. But I keep rewriting it. I keep needing to rewrite it. I keep not knowing how to formulate the emotions that overwhelm me. In a good way. Always in a good way. </p><p>So, George.</p><p>George.</p><p>I hope this letter made you smile. I know sometimes I care too much. That I grab onto things and I try my hardest to get it to work out. You’re not like those other things. No, my attention could never leave you George. So happy holidays. I hope you enjoy my gift. </p><p>From,<br/>
Dream</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Yes, Dream</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Why did George even write a response? He wasn't going to send it. He couldn't bear the embarrassment, the thought of Dream reading his words. Him reading the feelings that were trapped deep inside his body. </p><p>----------<br/>George read Dream's letter and finds himself unable to respond.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ruchagad thanks so much for helping me! You're amazing :D</p><p>If you made it this far, why. If your one of the ccs, again. why?</p><p>Whatever, read this if you want to feel something and want to also maybe cry a little.</p><p>I don't really have a song suggestion for this :O</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hello Dream.</p><p>I don’t know why I’m writing this. You’re never going to see it. I’m not going to send it. I don’t have to do anything but I need to be able to write it. I need to leave evidence that I read your letter. That I loved your letter.</p><p>It was hard to read. Not because of the tear stains or the smudged ink, but because of how truthful you are. I had to pause reading due to some of my own tears. </p><p>You’re brave, Dream. Clay? I don't know what to call you. There’s a reason that I don’t plan on sending this letter. I can’t imagine writing everything out and <em>sending</em> it— waiting for a response that may never come. Maybe, maybe in the future I will. I’ll leave it to the heavens above to take care of it, and I’ll wish and hope that the letter will make its way to you cradled with love and safety. And then maybe you’ll see why I never talk about my feelings.</p><p>Your letter was cute. Do you want me to describe how I looked when I read it? You would like that, wouldn’t you. You would enjoy seeing my smile, you’ll probably compare it to something obscure but beautiful and the thought of you doing that makes me laugh. </p><p>Some part of me thinks a call would be better, but I can’t bring myself to dial your number. I can’t stand the way my voice wavers when I really care about something. I’m so used to pushing it all away. Not letting things bother me but, Dream. </p><p>You don’t care too much. No, sometimes I feel like I don’t care enough. It’s a defense mechanism, I know. I know you know. I know you don’t mind but I do.</p><p>Sometimes, just like you, I’m scared. That I won’t be enough for you. I like what we have but I’m still terrified of the thought that you’ll leave me if you know. I can’t even write it down in a letter that you’ll never read because I’m scared that years in the future, the small chance that you do come across this will be the catalyst to our separation. I can’t have that. All that will remain of this letter are ashes but my words are eternal. I’ll make them be.</p><p>If I’m being honest, we don’t need a label. We don’t have to explain shit to anyone. And I especially don’t have to explain anything to you, but I will. I will. </p><p>I don’t have your skill, in minecraft or in writing, but I know I can be just as good. I’ve never doubted my abilities in anything actually and I know that you once did. That you had to fake your confidence before you had any. We all walk that path but I need you to know that you don’t need it in front of me. I want you to stand before me, vulnerable and true.</p><p>I care not for purity, I care about truthfulness— one that you proved to me in the letter that you sent. It convinced me that you really do care. In fact, I think I prefer your wonderful words over the gift you sent me. </p><p>So, my response is <em>yes</em>, Dream. </p><p>You make me smile by just simply standing next to me. </p><p>I never knew that you liked the way I slept. That you admired my face when I was away, visiting you in another place. That you felt terrible that your comforting hands couldn’t stop the pain inside me. It’s okay, Dream. It’s okay.</p><p>Just like you said, it’s part of being human. If being human lets me breathe next to you then I’m glad I was born. I’m glad to be human.</p><p>I used to think that there wouldn’t be anyone I really connected with in the world. Then I met you. I like to think that there was a one in seven and a half trillion chance that we would have met each other and got along as we did. It was all a beautiful accident. </p><p>I’m not good at responses. I’m not good at comfort. I think it’s a consequence of my past, my need to receive affection yet not being vocal about the affection I have for you. Honestly, I don’t know why you stay. </p><p>My therapist says that people have different love languages. Yours is gift giving. Mine is quality time. Neither of us are vocal, but your letter begs to differ. I’m a little overwhelmed, Dream.</p><p>Not because of your letter itself but of my own realization of what we have. This is something that simply cannot be captured in a couple of words, you’re right in that statement. I need to think more about it. So why am I writing a response? </p><p>Because I need to.</p><p>I feel like I need to tell you what I feel for you. That I need to describe you to the sun. That their rays are nothing when faced with your smile but that’s just returning what you said about me to you. I could quote Shakespeare, say the moon is jealous of your beauty, but I won’t. I can’t. Much like your reasons, I don’t think his writing lives up to you.</p><p>I can also only do my best. There are times where I’m not sure if I’m trying enough or if I’m just used to trying so much that it has become my normal. Yet, if that’s true then what does that say about me? Does it mean that I’m not good enough? Of course I am. You’ve told me many times before. How I’m perfect. </p><p>That’s the only thing I don’t believe you for.</p><p>I can accept your flustered expressions. I can accept many things— that you asked me to lie to you when you very well know that I will, but I can’t accept that you think I’m perfect. I’m not. </p><p>I want you to believe it, though. </p><p>I also want you to believe everything I say. I want you to stay by my side, mine. You’re not the only jealous one in this arrangement. I’m sure I was the one who wanted to monopolize your attention in the first place, but you won’t ever see me telling you that. I can already imagine your smiling face because of those words. No matter how much I know it’ll make you happy, I would rather not be embarrassed the next day. </p><p>Sometimes I hate the way you make me feel. I want to be mean to you. I want to hurt you. I want you to stay even when I’m terrible, but that’s toxic. I could never do that to you. I won’t. I refuse. So, just like you I hide it away. I guess we’re both awful people but if we do the math right, if we do <em>us</em> right, then I know that we will be okay. But it’s not math is it? It’s not statistics, it’s nothing you can quantify because it’s <em>human</em>. You can’t put a number to your feelings, no matter how much I begged to whoever in the sky above would listen to my pleas to make it all <em>make sense</em>.</p><p>I want to grow into a better person with you, Dream.</p><p>I want to be able to wake up next to you and experience the world alongside you.</p><p>But you won’t ever read this letter. No, I’ll simply send you a text that reads <em>Thank you</em>. I don’t know. I don’t know! I don’t want to leave you with close to nothing. I want to provide at least a little bit of comfort but I’m not sure how to really explain it.</p><p>How can I expect myself to know what to say when I’ve never been able to find the words before?<br/>
I don’t know. </p><p>With <strike>love</strike> affection,<br/>
George</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>:O </p><p>no, George didn't send this. There will be one more part to this short story and I'm not telling you what it is :D Hope you enjoyed!!!!!</p><p>follow me on twitter maybe <a> @terrible_pie </a><a></a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>